


if our love's insanity

by thisissirius



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Makeup, Punching, Rookies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Jonny’s face falls, then shifts quickly into anger. His arm snaps back and before Patrick can say anything, can apologise, Jonny’s fist is connecting with his face. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>the one where they're rookies and figuring out where they stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if our love's insanity

**Author's Note:**

> for kay because she's been waiting a hell of a long time for this. sorry it's taken so long and then it's so short ;_;
> 
> also because i am super into rookie fics.
> 
> i'm not sure anything actually happens in this fic lol. oops? also, don't hold it against me that they don't even make out. I'M SORRY.

Patrick doesn’t even remember what the fight is about.

To be fair, he doesn’t know what the majority of their fights are about, but this one feels different - _is_ different. At least, it ends differently.

They’ve been in Chicago for less than a year, and while it gets stifling being lumped in with Jonny over and over, everything about them tied together and shoved down the throats of the city and hockey fans, he still likes being _around_ Jonny. He’s funny, dry and witty and often looks surprised, like he’s not aware he could be that funny, and Patrick loves it.

That doesn’t mean they don’t fall out, that it doesn’t get too much; they fight because they want to be better, because it’s frustrating. Patrick hates that Jonny can be the best hockey player in the world if he puts his heart into it, and when he fucks up, Patrick screams at him because he wants him to realise. On the other hand, even though he knows Jonny is screaming at him because he wants the best for Patrick, it doesn’t make it easier to hear his faults thrown back in his face. 

He’s pretty sure that’s not what they’re fighting about this time, but whatever it is that he shouts has Jonny’s face falling, then shifting quickly into anger. His arm snaps back and before Patrick can say anything, can apologise, Jonny’s fist is connecting with his face. Pain explodes in his nose and he lets out a startled noise, stepping away from Jonny. 

They’re in the middle of the locker room, and while their arguing is fast becoming a staple in the locker room, guys are still stepping between them when things get too much. Patrick feels someone’s hand on his back, and a voice yelling at Jonny, “What the fuck, man!?”

Patrick can feel wetness on his hands - fuck, Jonny’s broken his nose or something - but it’s the look on Jonny’s face, the immediate rush of horror and panic, that brings Patrick up short. He opens his mouth to speak, but then Sharpy’s there, pulling his hands away and fuck, he’s bleeding everywhere. 

There’s an immediate rush of noise and a flurry of activity that has Patrick being ushered into the team medical room and familiar faces are checking him over. He answers what he’s supposed to, goes through the motions with Mike and the other guys, until they’re assuring him nothing’s broken, but that he’s going to be in pain for a while. He’s holding an ice pack to his face, waiting for Mike to grab some painkillers, when he hears the ruckus outside the room. 

Mike eyeballs from the other side of the room, but Patrick jumps down from the bed and strolls to the door. He pulls it open to find Jonny, Sharpy, and a couple of the other guys standing outside of the door, arguing amongst themselves. 

“Kaner!” Sharpy looks relieved. It was just a punch, geez, he’s totally giving Jonny way too much credit. 

“I’m fine,” Patrick says, sounding way more nasally than he wants too. “He didn’t hit that hard.”

Jonny balks, flushing, and then looking down at his feet. Sharpy is eyeing Patrick like he doesn’t believe him. 

“Seriously,” Patrick says, looking over at Mike. “Tell them I’m fine.”

Mike sighs, holding out the Tylenol as he approaches. Patrick takes them gratefully, but Mike is already addressing the guys. “He’s bruised, but fine. Though if you could refrain from punching him before a game, I would appreciate it.”

Fuck. Patrick almost forgot they have a game. “Reserve it for my body next time, eh, Jonny?”

The expression on Jonny’s face is hard to read, but he lets out a huff and stalks off. Patrick frowns. What the fuck.

\--- 

“What the fuck is up with you?”

Patrick’s finally managed to corner Jonny outside of the locker room. He’s pissed off; he’s been trying to get a hold of Jonny all day and keeps getting the cold shoulder. He’s in pain, the gentle throbbing in his nose that won’t go away, irritation at Jonny for avoiding him, and apprehension about his performance in the upcoming game. He doesn’t usually let himself get worked up about it, but everything has him off kilter, and the last thing he needs is Jonny being a dick. 

“Nothing.” The short, clipped way that Jonny says it is proof enough that he’s lying. 

Patrick scowls. “You punched _me_. If anyone gets to be a dick here, it’s me.”

Jonny straightens at that. “I already apologised -”

“Actually you didn’t,” Patrick snaps. “Seeing as how you haven’t spoken to me since it happened!”

Opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, Jonny shrugs helplessly, rubbing the back of his head. “I am. Sorry, I mean.”

Patrick deflates. “I know. I hardly think you’re going to go around punching me every time we argue.”

“I won’t.” Jonny says it like a promise, and if Patrick had remembered in that moment that this was _Jonny_ , he probably would have read the sincerity and determination in those two words. 

“Right. So let’s go an play some hockey.”

\--- 

They’re on the second intermission and Patrick wants to throw something.

By this time, he’s usually screwed up a couple of times and had Jonny yell him into doing what he wants, where he wants it. Patrick’s usually given back as good as he’s gotten, telling Jonny to step up his game and act like the Captain he pretends to be. Except this time. First period, Patrick comes off of the ice and expects a whole list of things he’s done wrong, but Jonny’s keeping a stony silence next to him on the bench. 

When he fumbles up a perfectly good pass, Patrick turns and yells at him to pick it the fuck up. For a beat, Jonny looks ready to fight back, drawing himself up and getting red in the face. Abruptly he sags, letting out a breath and nodding. “Fine.”

It’s not what Patrick expects - or wants - to hear, and he stares at Jonny for a beat too long, enough that Sharpy elbows him and tells him to shift up. Patrick sits down, frowning down at the floor. 

Jonny snaps at him the next time, and Patrick feels the relief in his chest as he snaps something back about Jonny’s sloppy stick-handling, but the argument stalls. Jonny looks angry, but just sits down. Patrick’s left floundering, used to having a buffer for his anger and irritation at his own playing as much as Jonny’s. He’s left to stew in his own frustration, and by the second intermission, he’s fucked off. 

Jonny’s sitting next to him, silent and calm and centering himself or whatever the fuck he calls it, and Patrick wants to punch him. It would be viciously satisfying and so worth the bitching Mike would give him, but what the hell else is Patrick supposed to do?

\--- 

Things go from bad to worse after that.

They have a couple of games on the road, which means they have to room together. Patrick’s sure this is the chance for them to get back to being the way they are. He needs Jonny to like, get under his skin. He’s not delusional enough to think that the way they behave is normal or functional, but he knows it works. It’s been working for them for a year, and he’s damned if he wants to go back to something else. 

It’s awkward. Jonny is his usual self; throwing empty bottles everywhere, working out in his fucking underwear, and turning off the light before Patrick’s ready. In return, Patrick kicks the bottles back over to Jonny’s side, throws shit at him when he’s working out, and bitches at him to turn the fucking light back on. 

Instead of getting annoyed at him, Jonny looks at him for an uncomfortably long time before giving in. Patrick grits his teeth and says nothing. He rolls over to face the wall, scowling at the beige paint until he falls asleep. He’s pretty sure it’s not healthy to like, glare and rage yourself to sleep, but rather that than rage at Jonny. It’s not as if Jonny’s going to fight back.

\--- 

“It’s just _weird_ ,” Patrick says.

Sharpy gives him a look. “It’s only weird to you, little man.”

Patrick wrinkles his nose. He really wishes Sharpy would call him something else. “He’s not talking to me, man. He’s being all weird and chivalrous.”

“Chivalrous? Really?”

“I know what that means,” Patrick says, defensively. “Anyway, the point is, he’s being a dick.”

“Didn’t you just way he was being chivalrous?” Sharpy smiles, the asshole. 

“Fuck you, you know what I mean.”

“I’m not Jonny,” Sharpy says, slowly, like he’s talking to an idiot. “But I’m guessing he’s probably freaked out about punching you, and you know, worried about doing it again.”

“That’s dumb.” Patrick can’t even begin to explain the many ways that doesn’t make sense. “Jonny is the person most likely to never let it happen again.”

Sharpy grins, like he’s solved all of Patrick’s problems. “Exactly.”

Patrick doesn’t know what the fuck just happened. “That wasn’t helpful!”

Sighing, Sharpy leans forward. “Look, Patrick, we all know Jonny, right? He has this weird thing where he thinks he’s got to be better every time he slips up. He’s punched you - yes, I know, accidentally - but he’s probably just worried that the next time you fight, he’ll do it again. This is his way of trying to stop it.”

“It’s a dumb way,” Patrick grouses, staring down at the drink he no longer wants. “Fuck this, I’m going to talk to him.”

“That’s probably not -” 

“Thanks, Sharpy,” Patrick says, clapping Sharpy on the back and sliding out of the booth.

\--- 

Patrick knocks on Jonny’s door, irritated when he doesn’t open immediately.

It’s Seabs who throws it open, hair-tussled and looking like he just rolled out of bed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Looking down at his watch, Patrick flushes. “I probably should have waited till the morning.”

“No shit,” Seabs says, but he gestures into the apartment. “Have at it. If you start shouting in the middle of the apartment, I’ll throw you both out of the window.”

It’s not much of a threat, considering Seabs is half-asleep, but he’s also crazy, so Patrick wouldn’t put it past him. “We won’t.”

Seabs waves a hand, making his way back into the bedroom. There’s a lump on the couch that looks vaguely Jonny shaped, but now that he’s here, Patrick wants to leave and do this later, when he’s not on edge from alcohol, and Jonny’s not just woken up. They’ve been rooming together enough on the road that he knows Jonny’s a bitch in the morning. 

“Jonny,” Patrick says, leaning over the edge of the couch to shakes Jonny’s leg. “Wake up, dude.”

Jonny jerks awake, blinking furiously as he looks up at Patrick. He actually yelps, which is hilarious, but Patrick sobers quickly at the look on his face. “Patrick? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Calm down,” Patrick says, holding his hands up, throwing a quick glance at Seabs’ bedroom door. It stays firmly shut. “I’m only allowed in here if we don’t argue.”

“We’re not going to argue,” Jonny says, almost immediately.

Patrick eyes him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” Jonny won’t look him in the eye, which doesn’t inspire confidence. Before Patrick can say so, Jonny runs a hand through his hair. “Why are you here?”

“You won’t argue with me.”

Jonny does look at him, then, frowning. “Uh, no. I thought we just established that?”

“No,” Patrick snaps. “I mean everywhere. On the ice, after games, whatever. Usually you’re getting up in my face and telling me what I’ve done wrong.”

There’s a strange look on Jonny’s face - shame, embarrassment and _want_ all vying for dominance. Patrick doesn’t know what to do with that. He thinks about what Sharpy was saying in the bar, and drops down onto the arm of the couch. Neither of them say anything for a while. 

“I want that,” he finds himself saying, looking out of the window so that he doesn’t have to look at Jonny. “It’s not - you make me wanna go out and prove you wrong. It’s not about - it’s not about wanting you to fucking attack me, Jonny.”

Jonny makes a soft sound. “I don’t wanna punch you.”

“It fucking happens,” Patrick snaps, because he’s so tired of having something so _stupid_ come between them. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“Do you even know what you said?” Jonny asks. 

Patrick doesn’t, but he knows that whatever it was caused everything. He thinks it was over the line because he’s been doing that since the start; getting under Jonny’s skin, learning the lines, and he inadvertently managed to cross it. Sure, he ended up with a bruised nose and ego, but it’s not like Jonny reacted because he thinks Patrick’s a dick. At least Patrick _hopes_ that’s not what he thinks. “You didn’t - if you wanna punch me for real, we can work it out, man.”

When he turns back, Jonny looks outraged. “What the hell, why would you think that?”

“There’s a difference between liking me because you want to, and because you have to.”

“This isn’t,” Jonny starts. He stalls, tugs on Patrick’s arm until he slides onto the couch, and Jonny’s shaking him a little. “I like you plenty.”

Patrick shrugs. He’s not insecure about it, but he knows he’s not the kind of person that everyone can get along with. “It’s fine if you are.”

“I’m _not,_ ” Jonny says, more fiercely. “Patrick, look at me.”

Patrick does, tilting his chin because this is all Jonny’s fault anyway. If he’d just spoken to Patrick after like a normal person, they wouldn’t be having to do this. 

“I would never punch you again,” Jonny says, seriously. He still has a hand on Patrick’s arm, and his fingers are twitching. His other hand is on Patrick’s leg and Patrick can’t focus on anything but the look on Jonny’s face. “It’s never been because I don’t like you.”

“Okay.” Patrick sounds a little hoarse, but fuck it, he’s allowed under the circumstances. “You gotta fucking talk to me, man. Stop acting like you’re _afraid_ it’s going to happen again.”

Jonny nods, slower, flushing a little. “I promise. I didn’t think - I didn’t think you’d care.”

Patrick doesn’t reply for a minute. When Jonny squeezes his arm, he blurts out, “I do. Care.”

There’s something else on Jonny’s face, reminding Patrick of the want he’d seen earlier and he feels his chest tighten a little. “Okay. You don’t need to embellish to get my attention.”

“Fuck you, I don’t embellish,” Patrick says, smiling like an idiot because this, at least, is familiar. 

Jonny just grins back, still not letting go of Patrick. The moment drags out, until the sound of a dog barking outside cuts through the room. Patrick startles. 

“I should go.”

“Stay,” Jonny says immediately. He tugs Patrick until he’s sprawled out across him. “Seabs won’t care.”

“The Bowmans might,” Patrick mutters, but they probably won’t if he wakes up early enough to text them. Jonny ignores him, throwing an arm over his shoulders. It’s not new; they’ve shared a bed before, when Sharpy’s pranks inevitably go awry, but this feels altogether different. 

Patrick’s just starting to drift off, when he feels Jonny’s lips brush his temple. Things might be different after this, but in a way that Patrick might just like.

the end 


End file.
